


Grandfather

by ani_bester



Category: Avengers (Comics), Invaders (Marvel), Secret Avengers
Genre: Babies, Families of Choice, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Near Death Experience, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ani_bester/pseuds/ani_bester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha listens to Jim's messages while he is "indisposed" and learns of something that needs to be dealt with if Clint wants to keep a lid on everything that happened, especially to Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grandfather

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is based on the events of Secret Avengers starting around issues #22 and ending just before Avengers vs X-Men. 
> 
> \- The women in this story to whom Toro is marries is Freya. She was introduced in the Torch miniseries. Freya lives in the underground city of New Berlin, which is comprised of Horton Cell based people (so technically all androids like Jim), but they are based on older prototypes of Horton cells so rather than having flame powers like Jim, anyone from New Berlin is burned alive if exposed to normal air. In the series, [Toro expressed eagerness to see her again, and she very much wanted to see Toro again](http://fuckyeahinvaders.tumblr.com/post/30617115249/i-wanted-to-take-a-moment-to-introduce-freya)

The room felt cooler somehow than the rest of the base; cold and empty like a tomb waiting to be filled. Natasha glanced at the thermostat, assuring herself that it still read the standard 75 Fahrenheit -far from anything she considered cold. But looking up at Jim, suspended in the orange viscous fluid that kept him functioning, the cold of a storage unit in Russia added an oppressive chill to the station's lab.

"Mr. Hammond." Natasha spoke in a hushed tone as though to a corpse on display. "We have to stop meeting like this."

She winced at her own joke, but the dark humor contained the truth. Though he had been an Avenger, she had more often come across Jim deactivated and contained in one machined or another.

As Natasha watched wisps of Jim's short cropped hair billow around his expressionless face, she fought to suppress a shudder. Memories of James, suspended with a similar blank expression, crept into her mind. James had looked as peaceful as Jim did now, and the lie had been much the same.

Speaking of lie's, Natasha glanced down at the mutilated remains' of Jim's chest and this time a single shudder slipped past her control and ran down her spine.

_"We don't tell anyone."_

Clint's voice, so much colder than Natasha associated with him, echoed in her mind like a tape replying a message. She knew him well enough to hear the humiliation and the doubt hidden beneath his aggression. And now he'd put a gag order on this mission, which would be fine except-

Except if Hank's confidence was misplaced and Jim couldn't be fixed. Her frown deepened. When James had seen Jim again, the smile of a young man not yet worn down by the world had lit up his face for the few seconds they'd embraced.

A small part of her argued James should know now, but Natasha clamped her emotions down around that feeling and pushed it away with practiced ease. She always kept secrets for those she loved, and James was not an exception in that regard. Besides, he'd proven himself hot headed when it came to old friends, and he could not help Jim, nor would a confrontation between him and Clint help anyone. For the sake of a long friendship, she would trust Clint's judgment.

For now.

Looking up at Jim one last time, Natasha put her hand against the glass that kept him "alive." Unable to come up with anything other than the mundane to say, she turned and left the lab, wanting to retreat to her own quarters. Tea sounded very good right now.

As Natasha made her way down the hallway, a break in the monotonous steel colored wall caught her attention. Jim's door had been left ajar. Without thinking much on it, she glanced into the room as she walked by the open door. Inside; a single, medium sized trunk sat at the foot of his unmade bed. There were only a handful of items set out, a few photos of him and other Invaders-mostly his son, a book on the nightstand, and a grey sweatshirt that had been strewn across the bed, with the matching pants lying in a heap on the floor. James had once mentioned that Jim loathed the austerity and neatness of military life, so Natasha guessed that he hadn't finished unpacking before the first crisis called him away.

As she reached for the door knob to close the door and preserve Jim's privacy, Natasha glanced over the book on his Nightstand. She could tell from the doorway the book was one of the current best-sellers. A fast food receipt bookmark stuck from the top of the book at a crooked angle, showing that Jim had just started it. She paused, hand on the cold metal of the door knob, and wondered if Jim liked the novel or was trying to mimic what he saw others doing. Natasha grimaced as the thought "I should asked him," came unbidden to her mind.

The book pressed up against an old style answering machine, maybe from the mid 90's. It looked as though it still used tape to record the messages. The oddity of such an old fashioned machine prompted her to take a closer looked, and Natasha noticed then the angry red flicker of the light. The machine had messages. Lots of them.

She shook her head, wondering who had called so much. Timed as if in answer to her unspoken question the shrill ring of the phone filled the room. Natasha listened as the phone cried out four times before the answering machine clicked on.

For three heartbeats only several deep breaths could be heard over the line. Then came a sharp inhale.

"Call me," pleaded a soft voice. There were another few heartbeats followed by multiple clicks of a receiver banging against the cradle as a shaky hand tried to hang up the phone. The answering machine let out a whir as it wound the tape and prepared to capture future messages.

Though he left no identification Natasha knew the caller. She'd only met him in passing, and he'd said only a handful of words to her, but she knew Thomas Raymond’s –Toro’s- voice as well as she knew James's.

James had tried numerous times to set up a meeting between her and Toro, but each scheduled get together had been pushed aside for one disaster or another. In the end, it had been a coincidence that she'd even met him. He'd been checking in with Steve during the most recent near destruction of civilization as they knew it. As he left, he'd stopped next to her. She had allowed him to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you for being there for Bucky." He had spoken like child at a funeral, soft and choked with the pain of loss, heavy with emotion.

Toro's two word message had been left in the same tight, choked voice, but this time he didn't speak in slow heavy tones, but in clipped tones driven by denial. She gazed down at the number next to blinking light, 34, and all from the same phone number.

"Well Clint," Natasha sighed, "I think I found a flaw in your 'tell no one' plan."

To her and Bucky, or even Steve and Sharon, or anyone in her life, not hearing from a loved one for a few days went with the territory. A week’s worth of missed calls, when they were meant to be on a mission, would be no reason to panic.

"Not so for you and Thomas, I suppose, Mr. Hammond." But even as she said it, she knew Toro would respect Jim's need to be away as an Avenger. He wasn't a stranger to the hero lifestyle. Somewhere in the 34 messages, he must have said something that had made him feel that nothing short of death would keep Jim from responding.

Her finger hovered over the small triangle on the play button. She took three even breaths, then pressed the button down with silent hope that this was the right decision.

There was a sharp click and then the first message played.

"Pappy," Toro's voice chirped over the speaker. "When you get this, call me back. I know New Berlin is a long trip, but if it's possible, Freya and I would love to have you over sometime soon. We can talk dates and see what can be worked out when you call. Bye!"

Natasha recalled James mentioning Toro was seeing a girl he'd met in the wake of the modified Horton Cell attack on New York. She guessed that Freya was the same woman.

The next message was only a few moments of silence, followed by the sound of a phone hanging up.

Toro waited over a day before he called again. "Just me, again. Guess you're still busy. I called around, Stark said you went off on and met with Steve and had some kinda meeting. So I guess call me when you can, bye."

There were three more calls and hang ups, and then a call and a fumbled hang up.

As Toro tried to hang up, Natasha could hear a woman's voice in the background. "Just call him tomorrow, dear." She had a thick German accent and her words were slurred with sleep. "Nothing will change tonight."

"I know, but really you'd-" Toro's voice cut off as he managed to end the call.

The display that showed the date changed again. Toro had managed to wait two days before trying again.

"Steve can't still have you in a meeting." He spoke in tight clipped tones as though fighting back what he really wanted to say. Whatever he wanted to say came out in a long sigh. "Ok, just, call me Pappy. I really want to see you. Freya too. Love you, bye."

The next three had simple messages, "Pappy, it's Toro, please call as soon as you can." With each repeated call, the request became sharper, the words more clipped and spoken with greater force. Natasha was reminded of a small boy working up to a tantrum.

The message machine rolled on, clicking on, the clicking off with no message left. Then the next one came and Natasha heard a shout in German in the background.

"You're melting the phone."

Toro apologized, his heavy accent mixed with anger making his German hard to understand. 

The answering machine clicked and the next message smashed through the quite of the still room.

"Damn it, Jim, where the hell are you?"

The anger in Toro's voice caught her by surprise. The phone slammed into the cradle with enough force to cause feedback on her end. Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Tantrum after all," she mumbled.

The next call came a few minutes later, but for once, was not from Toro.

"Mr. Hammond, this is Freya." Freya’s accent was so thick that Natasha had to listen with care to understand her. 

"Mr. Hammond, I know you are busy, but it's been days now. Tom worries. I worry. If you can't call, may someone call for you? It would ease Tom's worry." She sounded wary as though she had not slept well. Remembering Tom's call, Natasha wondered if that weren't the case.

Natasha folded her arms as the message machine gave up its next message.

"Pappy?" Toro's voice trembled. Natasha shook her head, picturing a small boy unsure if he were in trouble. "Pappy, I'm sorry I yelled. Freya's right, you're probably just real busy, only we both want to tell you something. It's important. I'll be patient though."

Natasha felt like the room had become smaller and the air heavier. She became aware of how loud her own breathing sounded in the empty metal unit that pretended to be a room. She moved her hand down, one finger pointed at the rewind button. She pressed it down with deliberate slowness. The button shuddered beneath her finger as the clunk of the mechanisms inside changed. Then the tape whirred for less than a second before it jolted to a stop with another click and replayed the message.

Natasha listened to the tone in Toro's voice, not the words. Tight with fear, but also, something else He sounded like a tourist in Vegas trying to bluff with a full house in his hand. The excitement crept through, even past the remorse and fear, an electric edge that he couldn't quite hide from a skilled listener. Suspicion curled in her gut, but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, Natasha waited in the silent room for the machine to give her answers.

Another few blanks messages went by. Sometimes Toro sighed on the other end, and sometimes Freya could be heard in the background.

The next message went much like the previous, and Natasha expected to hear the phone hung up again. Then though, a deep shuddering breath broke the silence on the other end.

"Pappy, Freya and I think, maybe, well if you can't answer the phone, maybe there's a good reason. Maybe you won't." Another shuddered breath shouted despair louder than Toro could have if he'd given voice to his emotions.

"We thought you should know… you're a grandfather, Pappy.” Toro paused and his breathing hitched. For a moment, Natasha thought he would break down, but he took a deep breath and pushed on. 

“Freya's pregnant, about three months along, and according to just about every doctor we know, she's doing fine and so's the baby, though we won't know if he'll react to air the way Freya does until he's born."

"Or if he'll react at all," Freya added.

Two deep breaths now, one from Toro and one From Freya. Natasha imagined them looking at each other, searching to for anything else to say.

"Call when you can," Toro whispered like someone who was defeated but refused to admit it. "And be safe, Pappy." Then there was nothing but silence.

After that message began a series of "please call me" messages, the most recent being the one that had trapped Natasha in Jim's room.

She crossed her arms across her chest, trying to decide what to do, because no answer from Jim, given the message Toro had left, would start an avalanche that no one would benefit from.

The shrill screech of the phone cut her consideration short and without pause she picked up the receiver.

"Hello, Thomas," she answered.

Stunned silence on the other end followed the initial gasp.

"This is Natasha, The Black Widow.” Here explanation was met with silence. Natasha sighed and rolled her eyes. "Bucky’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh, OH!, I’m sorry, I just ummm sorry. Of course, why-why did you answer Jim’s phone.”

Natasha thought for less than a seonc. “Jim asked me to check his messages and you happened to call while I was in his room." The lie flowed as easy as the truth would have.

On the other end she could hear Toro's breathing change as her lie released the anxiety from his body. 

"Oh, oh did he?"

"Yes."

"Is he ok?"

"He's fine, but the mission he's one is taking longer and more complicated than expected. It may be a while before he can contact you."

Natasha heard his cheek brush over the speaker end and guessed Toro had nodded. "Ok, ummmm, Miss Romanov, did you listen to all Jim's messages?"

Natasha heard the emphasis on all, the way Toro's voice rose in pitch. She could imagine his cheeks reddening as each second ticked.

"Yes, Thomas, I did listen to all of them," she answered.

On the other end Toro coughed, and Natasha could imagine his cheeks growing red. "I don't suppose you could do me a favor," he asked like a child asking for a second cookie.

"What favor?" she prompted.

"Could you delete the messages? I mean, if you're able to –or want to, of course you're probably able too." Tom paused, stopping the jumble of words falling from his mouth. He caught his breath for a second then continued. "I don't want Jim to hear the news like that. Would you please?"

"Of course, Thomas,” she answered.

"Thank you." Reassured, his voice sounded lighter. "And I guess I don't have to ask if you can keep a secret."

"Of course I can," Natasha said with a laugh.

"Thank you." Tom paused, and Natasha waited for another question. But instead he thanked her a second time in a breathless hurried voice and then hung up the phone.

Natasha set the receiver back down on the cradle and looked at Jim's answering machines. She watched the message light blink for a few seconds than pressed delete. The red numbers started their count down from 34; first slow, than gaining speed as she held down the delete button. One the light blinked zero, Natasha lifted her finger and walked away.

With one last glance around the barren room, she closed the door. Then with quick strides she headed toward the lap. Hank needed to know he had less than six months to figure out how to fix Jim.


End file.
